Star Wars

Yesterday, against my better judgement, B was allowed to watch Star Wars (IV; as in one of the proper ones).  H is on a stag weekend (locally, but to save the soft furnishings I encouraged him to camp down with the guys. Since he peed on the high chair I prefer him to stay over somewhere on big nights out) but he’d promised B could watch it.  B’s enjoyment was marred only by my continually interrupting to ask if he was scared.  Needless to say nothing phased him; not the Sand People, not Jabba, not even creepy old Vader could give B a single heeby-jeeby.  Then, as I peeled potatoes in the kitchen, B came rushing in with eyes like dinner plates and hands flapping like a baby bird, all of a dither.  He was gabbling about a fire in a town, buildings falling down, lots of people being killed and so forth. Then he turned on his heel and ran back to the sitting room, clearly fascinated by such horror. 

I rushed through slightly alarmed and feeling rather guilty at forgetting this grisly scene of violence in the film, only to find Star Wars was on a break – as is often the case on ITV – to allow for the evening news.  Nothing in the raging battles between the Rebels and the evil Imperial rulers had caused a moment’s upset but this glimpse of real life had frightened the bejesus out of him.

He’s got a point.



Got a call today from the olds. The dog (I say ‘the dog’ but owners out there will understand he’s not a pet but our loyal, loving dependant) was found ill in his bed this morning, taken to the vet and ultimately put down.  We knew it was coming due to his age but his slow gait up the hill after the second walk yesterday was the only warning sign. As the vet put it, “If I was 98, I’d come up the hill pretty damn slowly”.

B found me crying in the kitchen, where I explained what was wrong. He offered me a song to cheer me up and launched into something apparently made up about an alligator, an elephant, a giraffe and with a chorus about a monkey hanging from a tree.  At one point he faltered and ran into the bathroom. He shot back out a second later and carried on.  I was so touched I forgot to ask what the significance of the bathroom was.  He made me laugh, though, albeit somewhat hysterically as even more tears sprung to my eyes.

This evening, much later on, B has just asked me over dinner if I’m still sad about the dog.  He suggested another song, which reminded me to ask whether the original was his creation.  He said yes, he’d made it up based on G’s changing mat; this explained his brief foray back into the bathroom where he was checking the list of animals pictured on it.  He then elaborated further saying it came to him while he was doing a poo.  It must be true what they say about inspiration and the toilet…

P, you were a great dog.  We’ll miss you.